


I Had to Let Him Go

by FanOfFandoms



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Feelsy, Gen, Post-1x22, Pre-2x01, Sort of AU, spoilers for 2x01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:50:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2582030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanOfFandoms/pseuds/FanOfFandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons' thoughts as she sits by Fitz's bedside, waiting for when ('if', she reminds herself) he wakes up. She realises that she can't wait forever and maybe she shouldn't wait at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Had to Let Him Go

_“He’s alive_.”

That’s what she’d told them when she got back to the Bus. She’d told them that Fitz was alive.

Now? Now she wasn’t so sure.

She had done the right thing. She knew that much. She couldn’t have just left her best friend to certain death.

Well she could have done. But Fitz was _so much more_.

So why had she saved him?

She heard the words the doctors had been throwing around. _Severe trauma. Barely made it. No idea what’s in store._

_Brain damage._

Simmons may not have been _that_ kind of doctor, but she didn’t have to be to understand those words. And if the doctors’ speculations (and that’s all they _were_ at that point because no one had a _bloody clue_ what was going to happen if or when Fitz ever woke up) were true, then Fitz wouldn’t have a life. He wouldn’t be alive anymore.

He wouldn’t be her Fitz.

And she knew it was selfish, honestly she did, but she couldn’t bear the thought of _having_ her best friend and at the same time _not_ having him. It was like having a favourite toy and then losing the toy but getting a replacement: it was never the same.

It didn’t hold the memories.

It didn’t hold the scars.

It didn’t hold the _love_ that was never consciously there but always hovered at the back of her mind.

It killed her to think it but, in that moment, Fitz was her lost toy.

And as she sat by his bedside, the steady beeping of the monitors surrounding them simultaneously a lullaby and a torture, she let these thoughts run through her head and she _hated_ herself.

But not as much as she hated him.

How _dare_ he give himself up for her?! How _dare_ he think that he loved her more than she did him?! How _dare_ he think, for _one second_ , that she could cope without him?!

Because she couldn’t. She couldn’t cope with seeing him like this. She couldn’t cope with seeing him every day and _knowing_ that there was something missing. It was all very well and good for him to sacrifice himse

 _“He’s alive_.”

That’s what she’d told them when she got back to the Bus. She’d told them that Fitz was alive.

Now? Now she wasn’t so sure.

She had done the right thing. She knew that much. She couldn’t have just left her best friend to certain death.

Well she could have done. But Fitz was _so much more_.

So why had she saved him?

She heard the words the doctors had been throwing around. _Severe trauma. Barely made it. No idea what’s in store._

_Brain damage._

Simmons may not have been _that_ kind of doctor, but she didn’t have to be to understand those words. And if the doctors’ speculations (and that’s all they _were_ at that point because no one had a _bloody clue_ what was going to happen if or when Fitz ever woke up) were true, then Fitz wouldn’t have a life. He wouldn’t be alive anymore.

He wouldn’t be her Fitz.

And she knew it was selfish, honestly she did, but she couldn’t bear the thought of _having_ her best friend and at the same time _not_ having him. It was like having a favourite toy and then losing the toy but getting a replacement: it was never the same.

It didn’t hold the memories.

It didn’t hold the scars.

It didn’t hold the _love_ that was never consciously there but always hovered at the back of her mind.

It killed her to think it but, in that moment, Fitz was her lost toy.

And as she sat by his bedside, the steady beeping of the monitors surrounding them simultaneously a lullaby and a torture, she let these thoughts run through her head and she _hated_ herself.

But not as much as she hated him.

How _dare_ he give himself up for her?! How _dare_ he think that he loved her more than she did him?! How _dare_ he think, for _one second_ , that she could cope without him?!

Because she couldn’t. She couldn’t cope with seeing him like this. She couldn’t cope with seeing him every day and _knowing_ that there was something missing. It was all very well and good for him to sacrifice himself for her sake but how _dare_ he think that she wouldn’t try to save him?!

She would always try to save him. And that is why she _hated_ him because if he had just let _her_ press the button she _wouldn’t have this dilemma_.

Looking at him lying in that bed, tubes here there and everywhere that were effectively keeping him alive, she noted vaguely, with the tiniest bit of humour, that he had never looked pastier. Maybe it was the fact that he had been officially dead for almost thirty minutes, or maybe it was just because he hadn’t been outside in days, but he looked pasty.

_“You’ve been beside me the whole damn time!”_

Oh, how she felt the irony now. How she’d been on the brink of death and he’d said those words, pasty as ever, which were completely right. Ever since their time with S.H.I.E.L.D. started, they had been together, side-by-side. When she had almost died and now, when Fitz had almost died, they had always come as a pair.

Which was why she _had_ to walk away.

As far as she was concerned, FitzSimmons was finished. Dead. Gone.

There is no Fitz without Simmons, which is why he had tried so hard to make sure Jemma would be safe.

But there is no Simmons without Fitz and the man lying in the bed next to her _wasn’t_ Fitz, and never would be Fitz again.

So she got up. She left his side. She walked away.

If you asked Jemma Simmons who Leopold Fitz was, she would look away sadly, and reply with a sigh,

“Leopold Fitz was my best friend.

I loved him more than anyone else in the world.

But he passed away. He just wasn’t there anymore.

So I had to let him go.” 

lf for her sake but how _dare_ he think that she wouldn’t try to save him?!

She would always try to save him. And that is why she _hated_ him because if he had just let _her_ press the button she _wouldn’t have this dilemma_.

Looking at him lying in that bed, tubes here there and everywhere that were effectively keeping him alive, she noted vaguely, with the tiniest bit of humour, that he had never looked pastier. Maybe it was the fact that he had been officially dead for almost thirty minutes, or maybe it was just because he hadn’t been outside in days, but he looked pasty.

_“You’ve been beside me the whole damn time!”_

Oh, how she felt the irony now. How she’d been on the brink of death and he’d said those words, pasty as ever, which were completely right. Ever since their time with S.H.I.E.L.D. started, they had been together, side-by-side. When she had almost died and now, when Fitz had almost died, they had always come as a pair.

Which was why she _had_ to walk away.

As far as she was concerned, FitzSimmons was finished. Dead. Gone.

There is no Fitz without Simmons, which is why he had tried so hard to make sure Jemma would be safe.

But there is no Simmons without Fitz and the man lying in the bed next to her _wasn’t_ Fitz, and never would be Fitz again.

So she got up. She left his side. She walked away.

If you asked Jemma Simmons who Leopold Fitz was, she would look away sadly, and reply with a sigh,

“Leopold Fitz was my best friend.

I loved him more than anyone else in the world.

But he passed away. He just wasn’t there anymore.

So I had to let him go.”


End file.
